


(fashion) turn to the left

by buckgaybarnes



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Clothed Sex, Frottage, Lap Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, i mean this quite literally i really just jumped in guns a-blazing, newt in short shorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-06 23:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14658339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckgaybarnes/pseuds/buckgaybarnes
Summary: The cutoffs aretight.





	(fashion) turn to the left

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feriowind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feriowind/gifts).



> ok. so. yesterday on twitter feriowind talked about wanting fic of newt feat. the iconic mac and charlie: white trash cutoffs, so of course i did my best to deliver in the most entirely nsfw way possible

“I didn’t know they’d have such a _profound_ effect on you, Hermann,” Newton gasps, all scandalized innocence. It’s an act, which Hermann would’ve known even if Newton’s eyes weren’t twinkling with mischief, even if the corners of his mouth weren’t tugging up into a grin, even if he hadn’t moaned encouragingly when Hermann finally _snapped_ and tugged Newton down into his lap to bite at his mouth. His cutoffs are _tight_ , ridiculously so, and if Hermann’s loose slacks are becoming uncomfortable he can’t imagine how Newton’s feeling. It serves him right, he thinks, as he grips at Newton’s ass through the denim and grinds up.

Newton’s head falls forward onto Hermann’s shoulder, glasses and all, and he makes a soft, breathy sound and Hermann can feel his heart racing, his chest heaving, the dizzying warmth of him through even through his thick sweater and Newton’s thin, tight cotton t-shirt. “Do that again,” he begs, and Hermann obliges, thrusting his erection up into the hardening line of Newton’s own cock once more, twice more. He pushes one hand up the back of Newton’s t-shirt and drags his nails across the sweat-damp skin, lightly, leaving the faintest scratches in the way he know Newton likes, and inches the other down the back of the tiny, tiny cutoffs, and—he’s certain Newton can hear his breath hitch, because—

“Are you—” Hermann says, and chokes back a low groan, “are you not wearing any—”

Newton hums happily against the side of his neck, and Hermann can feel him grin. “All commando, baby.”

Hermann kisses him again, hot and feverish, and shoves both his hands down the back of the shorts—with no insignificant amount of resistance in the tight, tight fabric—to cup the soft skin of Newton’s ass. Newton squirms in his lap, trying to lean both forward and backwards at once, uncertain of what contact he needs more. “Hermann,” he whines into Hermann’s mouth, and Hermann decides for him, pressing Newton flush against his chest. He leaves messy kisses down Newton’s jaw as he rocks their hips together, and Newton’s making the most wonderful, eager little noises, head tipped back. Hermann wonders if he could make Newton come just like this, make a mess of those tiny cutoffs. He works his hips more frantically, grazes his teeth over the skin of Newton’s throat.

“ _Hermann_ ,” Newton repeats, and Hermann glances down long enough to see that the zipper of his shorts is bulging out obscenely, probably digging into his erection. Hermann can’t imagine that’s comfortable.

“Poor thing,” he says, mock-sympathetically, and squeezes Newton’s ass. Newton’s hips jerk forward, and he makes another little noise. “You must _ache_.” Newton nods frantically; he’s rutting against Hermann with abandon, face flushed, lips parted. It’s a nice sight. Hermann intended to chastise Newton again, drag it out longer, say it’s what he deserves for not wearing more lab-appropriate clothing, but he takes pity. Besides: he really does quite want to make a mess of those shorts, his own orgasm be damned. He brushes his lips over the shell of Newton’s ear. “Come on,” he urges, voice low, squeezing at Newton again, and Newton ruts harder, clutching at the back of Hermann’s sweater, “come on, Newton—”

Newton’s hips stutter against his and he shakes and whimpers through his release, and Hermann can’t help the little swell of pride he feels.

**Author's Note:**

> usual "find me on twitter at hermanngaylieb/find me on tumblr at hermannsthumb for more nonsense"


End file.
